


Do it For Yourself

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pep talks, Post-Episode: Dealing with INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, Sympathetic Remus Sanders, remus sanders being remus sanders, uh. oh jeez what the FUCK do i tag this as, uhh. ok. ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Roman receives a much-needed pep talk from an... unlikely source.





	Do it For Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> and here it is! my first attempt at writing something for Sanders Sides. focused on Roman, because I love the little shit, but god he is _hard_ to write.  
thank you to sabinethesoprano for beta-ing this and pointing out my 349083980890850985 unnecessary commas and weirdass typos. ily
> 
> **TW FOR REMUS AND REMUS' GENERAL BULLSHIT: mentions of vomiting, insects crawling on people, and other one-offs. They're all brief and non-descriptive, don't worry.**

“No, no, no,  _ no. _ ”

A pencil clatters noisily onto a table. Roman winces at the noise, which quite effectively cuts through his brooding silence and ruins the moment. After a moment, he flicks the pencil away, watching it roll across the table.

In front of him, an idea sits, newly-formed and brimming with potential. But it’s not good  _ enough _ . Nothing’s been good enough— not this idea, not the last idea, and definitely not the billion or so ideas that came before that.

Roman grits his teeth and lets his head sink forward to press against the table. Graphite-smeared paper sticks to his forehead, crinkling as he clenches his fists. His heart hammers against his chest, and he forces himself to take a slow, deep breath, like Logan does when he’s getting ready to pull out his ‘stupid quotes’ book. Just breathe, in and out. Don’t get frustrated. That won’t help anybody. 

Not like Roman’s helping anyone, anyway.

Something in Roman snaps. He grips the pencil in a fist and— with  _ far  _ too much pressure— scribbles out whatever stupid ‘idea’ had been budding. When his writing is properly obscured, he slams a hand down on his desk, snatching up the offending piece of paper and crushing it into a crumpled ball. Then, he turns and wings it across the room towards the overflowing trash can. It misses, bounces off the wall, and comes to a stop by the door.

Roman kind of wants to scream. But he  _ doesn’t _ , because if he starts screaming, then Patton will bust in and ask what’s wrong, and Roman loves Patton, he really does, but he just—  _ can’t  _ do that right now. He can’t deal with Patton’s condolences or a chipper smile asking, ‘so, how are the ideas coming?’ because then he has to explain that the ideas  _ aren’t  _ coming because he’s a  _ failure _ .

Roman buries his face in his hands and presses until the heels of his palms send light bursting across his eyelids. This is fine, he’s fine, he can do this. He can do this, he  _ has  _ to do this, for Thomas, for the viewers, for everyone who’s looking to him, watching,  _ waiting _ —

“Well isn’t this a mess! I  _ love  _ it! Very tasteful, I like what you did with the trash can—”

Roman scrambles around in his chair so quickly he nearly knocks the damn thing over, eyes wide. Remus is sprawled across the couch, where he  _ definitely  _ had not been two seconds ago, lazily tossing and catching a crumpled ball of paper above his head. When he catches Roman staring, he winks and offers a twiddly wave with his free hand.

“ _ Remus?  _ Why—” Roman bites down on that question. Remus isn’t really in the business of doing things for a reason other than  _ oh, why not?  _ Instead, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite capable of entertaining myself, thank you,” Remus says. “However, through our  _ brotherly bond _ , I was more than capable of sensing your distress and came  _ running  _ to assist!” He throws out a dramatic hand, rolls off of the couch, and hits the floor face-first. After a moment, he kicks his legs up behind him and props his hands beneath his chin with a grin.

“You came to—” Roman recoils. “I—  _ No _ . No, I do not need  _ your  _ help.”

“Oh, sure, whatever you say,  _ Princey _ .” 

Roman stares down at the pencil in his hand and wonders how accurately he could throw it. Apparently he’s not subtle because Remus jumps up with a manic smile.

“Oh, oh, do it! Do it!” He pulls one eye open wide with both hands. “Aim here!”

Roman drops the pencil and draws his hands to his chest, feeling sick.

Remus pouts. “Oh,  _ boo _ . You’re no fun.”

“If that’s your idea of  _ fun _ , I think I’ll pass, thanks.” Roman turns back around in his chair, hunching over. Turning his back to Remus is a gamble any day, but if Remus hasn’t already tried to run him through with a swordfish or shoot him with a nail gun, he probably won’t. “Can’t you just— I don’t know, go bother Mr. Common Sense or something?”

“He’s no fun,” Remus says. “So  _ robotic  _ and indifferent to what I have to say. I really don’t know how you put up with him all the time, Roman.”

Roman turns back around in his chair. “Don’t— Don’t talk about Logan like that.”

Remus cackles again, clapping his hands. “ _ Defensive _ much, Princey? Anyhoo, I’m not here to bother Logan. I’m  _ here  _ to give  _ you  _ some… inspiration!“

“...That I will pass on, thank you.” Roman wonders if asking Logan to get rid of him would be rude. Remus would probably pop right back, anyway. “Your  _ ideas  _ won’t exactly be of use here.”

“Oh, but it’s not my  _ ideas  _ I’m here to offer.”

Roman blinks. Remus waits patiently with his hands clasped behind his back and a rather smug smile adorning his face. What the hell does he mean he’s not here to offer ideas? That’s all he  _ does—  _ come up with freakish, stomach-turning ‘ideas’ that belong in the forgotten depths of nightmares. 

“...What?” He asks.

“Scooch,” Remus says and doesn’t even give Roman time to process the word before hip-checking him to the side and settling onto the small, very obviously  _ one person  _ chair beside him. He then wraps an arm around Roman’s shoulders and kicks his feet up onto the table, tilting them back at a precarious angle.

“So. Trying to come up with a bland old  _ video,  _ huh?” He asks, tugging at his mustache with his free hand. “How’s that coming along?”

“Fine,” Roman says, trying not to squirm at how close their chair is to flipping over backwards.

“It seems to be coming along fine to  _ me _ , but apparently  _ you  _ don’t think so.” Remus hums, rocking them back and forth.

Roman frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you keep getting all frustrated that you’re not having any ideas, but you’re having  _ plenty _ of ideas!” Remus reaches behind his back and procures the paper ball, which he uncrumples. “Look at this! Brilliant, if a bit  _ boring _ . Lacking in decapitated owl chicks.”

Roman ignores the last part of that statement. “It’s— It’s not brilliant, Remus. It’s—  _ okay _ , but it’s not good enough.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Good enough for  _ who? _ ”

“For  _ Thomas?”  _ Roman squints. “What—”

“And  _ there’s  _ your problem!” Remus gives the desk a hardy kick, finally tipping their chair over backwards and dumping them both onto the floor. Roman scrambles to his feet, but Remus just rolls over and lies there, face-down and clearly uninterested in making any attempt to stand.

“You see, you’re making things, but you’re not making things for  _ you! _ ” Remus says, muffled into the carpet. He continues to gesture with his hands, although the effectiveness is… limited. “You have  _ plenty  _ of ideas, you’re just not ‘satisfied’ with them because you  _ think  _ they’re not good enough!”

“They’re— But they’re  _ not  _ good enough,” Roman says, bewildered. 

“How would you know? You only spent about three seconds with each of them before throwing them out.” Remus finally gets up off the floor, dusting himself off. “Which, if you don’t  _ want  _ them, that’s fine, I’d be more than happy to take credit for them— with some  _ embellishments _ , of course—”

“No,” Roman snaps without thinking. “They’re mine.”

“So you  _ are  _ proud of some of them!” Remus smiles infuriatingly. “So, what’s the hang up? What’s got your dick in a twist?”

Roman grimaces. “Oh, God, please don’t— No. And— look, my ideas are  _ okay _ , but they’re not good enough for  _ Thomas _ . Like I said. I— I have to be perfect.”

“Ooh,  _ perfection.  _ There’s a real biter.” Remus turns away. “Chase that for too long and, whoo, you’ll be beat! Then the vultures will come eat your intestines and bugs will infest your decaying eyeballs!” He cackles. 

“But I have to  _ try _ ,” Roman points out. “I can’t just— settle.”

“But you’ll have to!” Remus says, spinning around. Roman recoils sharply at the sight of Remus’ face, which is swarming from the mouth and nose with ants. Remus giggles, and the bugs disappear. “You’ll never  _ reach  _ perfection! Somewhere, you’ve gotta say, I think this is good! And the trick to that is not doing it for anyone else.”

“...I— I don’t understand,” Roman says cautiously.

“If you’re making things for yourself, and you’re satisfied, then you’re satisfied!” Remus says. “If you’re making things for someone else, you’re never gonna  _ be  _ satisfied, because you’re never gonna want to settle!”

“What?”

“Look. Life’s all nasty and gritty. Lots of people aren’t going to  _ appreciate  _ your ideas, regardless of how good or ground-breaking they actually are.” Remus scoffs. “If you only ever make things for other people,  _ someone’s  _ going to be dissatisfied, and then you’ll be all  _ boo hoo, I’m a failure. _ But do it for yourself, and well, who gives a damn what other people think?”

“But I  _ do  _ care about what Thomas thinks.”

“ _ Princey _ , you’re missing the point. You can care about Mr. Goodie Two-Shoes Thomas and his terrible opinions, fine. But that can’t be the only thing you ever take into account, because then you’ll never get  _ anything  _ done.” Remus rolls his eyes. “Also, everything will be  _ PG  _ and  _ boring.  _ It’s not  _ real  _ entertainment until someone gets maimed.”

“So you’re saying Sanders Sides isn’t real entertainment?” Roman ventures.

Remus flicks a knife out of nowhere, beaming. “It can be.”

“ _ No, _ no. Point taken. And… acknowledged.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Remus is actually making a sliver of sense—  _ for once _ . Roman’s been so caught up in this cycle of chasing perfection for Thomas’ sake that he’s disregarded his own standards and set up impossible ones. His ideas aren’t  _ bad _ , they’re just not reaching the bar that he can’t even see from the ground.

As if reading his mind, Remus reaches out and hands Roman the uncrumpled idea from earlier. Roman reads over it with new eyes, thoughtful. It’s not  _ perfect _ , far from it, but… he  _ is  _ proud of it. And, with some workshopping, maybe…

He should show it to Thomas.

“Go  _ get ‘em _ , Tiger,” Remus grins, clapping him on the back. “And tell Thomas I said hello! Oh, actually, I’ll go do it myself. Which do you think Thomas would prefer to be greeted with— a water balloon filled with piss or a child vomiting up rats?”

“Uh," Roman says, paralyzed. “...Neither?”

Remus claps his hands together. “A box full of headless birds, then! Perfect! I’ll see you in a bit then, Princey! Try not to think about naked grandmas slipping and drowning in the shower!”

Roman grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, Remus is gone, leaving only quickly-fading laughter behind. He sighs, shakes his head, and looks down at the paper in his hands.

Do it for himself.

Maybe… he can do that.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> and thats that on that! huzzah. remus for the win...?
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
